When the wake-up bell rang, Sienna was drifting
between sleep and wakefulness. She did not bother to react until,
as every morning, her groom's crop lightly touched her shoulder.
"Hey, Sienna! Morning's here!"
Without the bell and the groom, she could not
have known that it was morning because she slept blinkered,
in total darkness. The groom had begun blinkering her when she
injured her ankle, a long time ago. He had probably thought
that sleep would be easier for her; and he had probably been
right. Now that the pain had long since subsided, she should
have preferred even the limited vision afforded by her every-day blinders.
Since there was no way for her to communicate a preference,
she let it slip away before it grew into frustration. Sienna
carefully avoided desiring most things. With no way of relieving
desire, frustration would fester quickly.
Even after the groom spoke to her, Sienna did
not move. There was nothing to do until he came back to shoe
her. That would happen soon, but not right now. So she could
still relax for a while.
"Soon" and "right now" were the only notions she
used for the future. "Tomorrow" was meaningless, as it would
be impossible to distinguish from today. The far future was
something she avoided thinking about. She could continue as
now for a long, long time yet, fifteen years or so, before she
would be physically inapt. She did not want to think about what
would happen then. Once in a while the possibilities would slip
through her defenses, and none of them were good.
There was one future event which was certain –
the only event which might mark the passing of time for her.
Once a year, she was offered the possibility of leaving the
island, of returning to the States. But even that annual singularity
was blurred. Each time, the ceremony was identical, and since
Sienna reacted each time in the same way, she had already lost
track of how many times it had happened. It was annoying not
to know if she had been there for two years or for three, but
after all, what difference did it make?
Not that she was either indifferent to events,
or incapable of tracking them and analyzing them. She was both
sensitive and intelligent, but she had changed a great deal
since arriving on the island. She now thought of herself as
two beings, intimately melded into one creature named Sienna.
There was the pony: a primal being, emotionally and physically
sensitive but almost mindless in quest for food, water, sleep
and sex. And there was another being, who shared the pony's
senses, while standing distant, floating, observing. This one felt
all that the pony felt, and had an intense need to understand … but
could not act. Never.
There was a languid pleasure in these early morning
moments, waiting for her groom. Her mind could wander, musing
over nothings, like "soon" and "right now", and how to measure
time. Once upon a time, in another life, she had measured time
in minutes, hours, days … There had been something called a
calendar. The present had been a slippery instant between an
infinite but measurable future and an infinite but measurable
Now, time was completely different. The present
was almost the entirety of her existence. The future hardly
existed; and the past was … variable: "yesterday" was a useful
notion, an epoch still clear in her mind. Before "yesterday"
was much less certain – did something happen just the day before,
or two days, or … So that period before yesterday was amalgamated
into "recently". Even earlier events were "quite a while back".
At some indefinite point, the past became "a
long time ago".
To complicate matters, Sienna's perception of
the distance of what happened to her varied, depending on how
she had enjoyed them. A sadistic guest's whip was necessarily
sharp in her mind, and therefore recent, even if the groom's
calendar would not agree. And Her Driver's touch was a necessarily
much too long ago, generating a dreamy longing … even if He
had been with her just the day before.
The door to her stall squeaked open.
Automatically, Sienna raised her right foot in
the air. The groom removed the plastic brace which kept her
foot in a "points" position during the night, slipped on her
hoof-boot, blocked it against his thigh, and began lacing. The
boots held her ankles in that same "high heels" position, but
there were no heels. Laced up over her calves, the boots reinforced
the ankles at the same time. He pushed the shod foot to one
side and caught the other foot which she immediately presented.
He worked methodically, saying nothing.
When she was shod, he tugged lightly on her bridle,
and she rose to her feet. She staggered a bit, making little
nickering noises. Getting balance, on tiptoe and without vision,
is not easy. Even without blinkers, standing at attention was
a dressage test, and a very difficult one. Except in dressage,
Sienna never quite stood still. She always stood with her hooves
spread moderately, both sideways and fore-and-aft, and moved
them minutely but constantly, readjusting her balance. It was
far easier to remain still when hitched to a sulky, with the drawbars
providing fore-and-aft stability.
As every morning, her groom led her to a corner
of her stall, and removed her butt-plug tail so she could defecate.
Urinating was possible anywhere, any time during the day, but
defecating was not. She crouched and took as long as necessary.
The groom waited patiently, and then reinserted her tail. She
had no idea when or by whom the mess would be cleaned up, but
when she returned later in the day it would be done.
The groom next hitched her bridle to a bar above
head height, maintaining her rigidly upright, while he cleaned
her. Sometimes he just brushed off the night's straw, sometimes
he swabbed her down, and sometimes he flooded her with large
quantities of water (buckets, probably, but she was not sure,
because she was still totally blind). Today, he just brushed
her off. This was a disappointment, because she was always hoping
that the cleaning session would transform into something more
fun. When his hand drifted close to her sex, she thrust her belly
forward and nickered hopefully. It was no surprise that he did nothing,
but it was always worth a try. When he really washed her down,
he had to rub her, and she could sometimes get him interested.
After giving her bridle some slack, he screwed
a feed bottle into the fat, foam-rubber-coated pipe-gag which
permanently filled her mouth, and left her. She had learned
to take her time, tilting her head back to let some of the oatmeal-like
substance flow into her throat, then tilting her head forward
again to stop the flow. In the down position, the bottle allowed
her to breath through her mouth, through her pipe-gag. Once,
a long, long time ago, she had eaten too greedily. She had thought
she would choke to death when she swallowed sideways, but the groom
had heard the commotion she had made, and had quickly unscrewed
the bottle so she spit everything back out.
After the feeding, the groom watered her the same
way, and then brushed her teeth.
Next came the moment Sienna was waiting for. Every
day, she received a coat of UV-blocking cream. Otherwise, nude
under the sun, she would be burned to a crisp. The groom's cream-slick
hands slid all over her body, drawing little moans and flutters.
She pressed her breasts into his hands, and ground her sex against
his calloused fingers. Her behavior always brought a chuckle,
and often better than that. Every two or three days (but she
could never keep count), he would caress her to a dancing, weaving
orgasm. Today he was in a hurry. No joy.
Finally he brushed and braided her hair. She never
saw her own hair – her blinders limited her vision to a narrow
vista just in front of her. Still, she could feel that the braids
were done in a different way each day: single, double, multiple;
loose or tight; hanging free or bound together; … . Her hair
had been shoulder-length when she arrived on the island, and
must now be down to her waist. She would have liked to see it,
but it never happened.
Only when he had already unlatched the gate to
Sienna's stall did the groom remove her blinkers. He gave her
an instant to adjust to daylight, and then led her through the
stables to the tack room. That short walk was the only part
of her universe which she ever saw completely. She was not yet
wearing her tack, so she could turn her head.
In the tack room, her bridle was once again hitched
high up, lifting her head. The tack he put on her was in fact
very light. A pony was meant to run as long and as far as possible.
Sienna stood impassively
while he threaded a thin strap in an ¥-pattern, looping under her arms,
and crossing behind her neck. From that strap, four others were
attached to her head-harness, effectively freezing her head
upright and forward.
The last leather was the wide, soft drawbar belt,
buckled well below her waist, which rode lightly and loosely
on her hips.
The morning routine, from wake-up to ready-to-go,
never varied in any way. Whether she was to pull guests' sulkies,
or to take dressage lessons, or to train physically, or whatever,
it did not matter. Her day always, always began the same.
From the tack room, the groom led her to the garage.
Here her days diverged. Most days, she would be hitched to a
standard touring sulky, and then led on to the waiting yard,
and the guest-drivers. Sometimes, the sulky would be the ultra-light
one for dressage training. Sometimes (and this she definitely
did not like) it would be a wagon, when there was materials
hauling to be done. A couple of times, recently, she had been
hitched tandem, beside another pony, on a light sulky. Those
outings had not gone well – she and the other pony had never found
the same gait, and chaotic bobbling was the result. She hoped she
would be considered too old to learn new tricks like that –
the driver had not been at all happy, and had used his crop
liberally. Once in a great while, she had been hitched as a
trailer behind a sulky, for endurance training. (She was pretty
sure that the contrary – another pony trailing while she pulled
– was fairly common. She had heard her groom say she was quite
resistant. But since she could never look behind her, she could
not be sure.)
This morning was business as usual. She was guided
to a standard sulky and between the drawbars, which were clipped
to her belt. Her reins were attached to the rear of another
sulky, making her the rearmost of the little three-car train
which was led to the waiting yard.
Often, there was no one there when the ponies
arrived. She had no idea of the hour, of course, but when the
days were short the sky would still be pinkish when the sulkies
reached the yard. Hotel guests usually preferred to sleep.
This morning, though, she felt a driver climb
immediately into the sulky. She waited attentively for the first
signals on her reins. A flutter of hope rose from her belly:
Her Driver always came very early so that they could have a
long day together. But the first tug told her that this was
not Him. His touch was infinitesimally light – He let her just
barely perceive his will, knowing that that would be enough
to guide her.
This driver tugged. Not brutally, but much harder
than necessary. Sienna buried her disappointment under the intense
attention that she paid in these first minutes.
Since her head was fixed forward, she never saw
her drivers. (As much as she avoided "desiring" anything, so
as not to be frustrated by its denial, she ardently desired
to see Her Driver's face, more than she had ever desired anything
in her life. She knew, she knew, that she would see Him when
He thought her ready.)
Not seeing her driver meant that Sienna had to
collect all information through the reins. In particular, she
needed to know, quickly, just how skillful the driver was. The
better the driver, the less she took initiatives. The more hesitant
the driver, the more she would act on her own. This was one
way of ensuring that the outing went as smoothly as possible.
A pony's interest was always that the outing go well – even
if any mistakes made during the outing were the driver's own
errors, he was still the one who held the whip … literally.
As the sulky gradually built up speed to an easily
sustainable jog, it became obvious that this driver was less
than average. He knew how to handle the reins, but his manner
was unsteady – he would first be too harsh, then overcorrect
and be almost absent. No matter: he apparently was not going
to overuse the crop, and from Sienna's point of view, that was
the only important question.
Well, no … not the only question. There was another
aspect , and a very important one, to determining a driver's
skill level. A competent driver knew the different gaits that
ponies were supposed to be capable of maintaining: slow and
fast walks, high-step, trot, and so on. A competent driver would
require the pony to slip into whatever gait he desired, and
not to deviate. He would observe the way the pony moved, and
would reward precision … or punish sloppiness.
An incompetent driver would not know one gait
from another, would not know how a pony is supposed to move.
So Sienna could modify her gait for her own purposes. And she
did have her own purposes, or rather a very specific singular
As soon as she was sure the driver was relatively
novice, she began swiveling her hips. Lightly at first, so that
he would not notice any sudden change – no driver, however new,
would appreciate the idea of being manipulated by a pony!
Gradually, Sienna's rear end wiggled more and
more. Her swishing tail made the movement all the more blatant.
Off to the right, at the edge of her limited field
of vision, she saw that they were nearing a meadow. Now! she
And indeed, he slowed her and pulled her to the
right. The sulky was hardly onto the grass before he halted
her. She felt one of the driver's hands on her shoulder, pressing
her down onto her knees. Then one hand retained her hips while
the other push her face and shoulders forward and down onto
the ground. He gave her no warning nor time to prepare, before
plunging into her, but then she had started lubricating as soon
as she had realized that he was not correcting her sensual gait.
She tried to milk him, to move in time to his
own rutting, to keep him from ejaculating too quickly. She clenched
and unclenched as she thought he was closer or farther from
exploding, trying to ensure her own orgasm before he got his
– she knew that if he came before her, that would be the end
of it. No driver thought about the pony's pleasure. No driver
except Her Driver.
Here … it … came! Through the haze of her orgasm,
she managed to time her movements to build with the driver to
his climax, as well. Keep the customer satisfied, and he'll
be back another day.
Spent, he sagged back against the sulky, breathing
hard. Sienna was making little cooing noises. She emptied her
conscious, leaving the space for the little aftershocks that
follow an orgasm. Nice …
The return to the yard was easy-going. Neither
the driver nor the pony had any particular desire for speed.
Sienna was careful to maintain some hip-swivel in her gait –
it would not be a good idea to let the driver understand that
he had been seduced. The driver let her walk the last half-mile.
Some days a pony could spend a half-day in the
yard, and never be called on. This was clearly not to be one
of those days. Another driver was waiting as soon as she came
to a halt.
"How was she?"
"… eh … She was great, really great. … Pulled
the sulky pretty good, too!" He laughed.
"Yeah, yeah … knowing you, that would be the way
you see it. Me, I'm gonna see how she goes through her steps.
'Course, I may see how 'good' she is, too." And the new driver
laughed, too, as he climbed into the sulky's seat.
"Since she's been exercising, she doesn't need
a warm-up," he called, as he gave Sienna a sharp swat with his
crop. And they were off.
Sienna was always on the look-out for drivers
she could seduce, but failing that she preferred to have a good
hand on her reins. This one was fairly good. He measured her
capability very quickly, and kept her just on the limit of anaerobia.
That meant slowing uphill and accelerating downhill, and he
handled her well. Like any animal in good physical condition,
Sienna took pleasure in this kind of exertion. Was it endorphins
or just pride? No matter.
He ran her for long time, but not too long. He
was good – observing her gait carefully, noticing that she was
becoming more and more ragged. And before she hit the wall,
he slowed her to a cool-off jogging pace. He was very good,
indeed. Of all the drivers she had had, only Her Driver was
better. But of course Her Driver was the best, no one could
When they stopped, she was not really surprised
that he had brought a feed bottle and a water bottle for her.
Really good drivers were always considerate ones. When she was
fed and watered, he began to caress her.
She cooed, welcoming him, encouraging him. As
much as her tack would allow, she leaned into his hands, and
moved in time with his stroking. His hand slid over her sex.
"My, my! This little pony is so wet she may cause
a tidal wave."
Sienna ground her sex against his fingers. She
made little honking noises through her pipe-gag.
"You are a greedy little thing," he laughed, still
She had a hard time imagining a driver getting
her off like this – only Her Driver ever did so. But if he wanted
to finger her, who was she to refuse? He was behind her, with
one hand working her breasts and the other her clit. The orgasm
was not far … not far … not … … He took his hands
She squealed, wiggling her sex in frustration.
"Oh, dear, is something wrong?" He laughed again,
but it was not a cruel laugh. "So down you go, girl, and we'll
see what we can do …"
She dropped like a stone, face and shoulders slamming
into the grass, keeping her ass high.
He was as quick as his friend in penetrating her,
but nowhere near as quick in concluding. He intended to drive
her, in this position, too. He reamed her smoothly and constantly.
At some point, his own groans melded with Sienna's honking,
in a steamy pulsing duet, rising steadily to a double, and perfectly
coordinated climax. A very good driver, indeed.
For the second time that morning, Sienna floated
in never-never land.
And once more, the return to the yard was a relaxed,
easy jog. This time, though, she was seriously apprehensive
as they arrived. This second outing had been wonderful – but
extenuating … for various reasons. She certainly was not complaining,
but if there were a third outing, she would have trouble staying
Sure enough. As she arrived back in the yard,
at a brisk walk, there was yet another driver waiting … and
no other sulky available. Unless this one was waiting specifically
for some other pony, Sienna was to get no rest.
She was reined in just past the waiting driver.
The two men did not speak as they exchanged places. The new
driver was already in the seat when the preceding one raised
a feed bottle to her lips.
"Just a sec," he said. "That was her second outing
this morning, so she could probably use a bit of restoration."
She swallowed a bit of gruel, but not much – if she had to run
again, it would be easier without a heavy stomach. She was always
well fed in the evening. When she kept her head down as far
as she could, showing that she wanted no more feed, the bottle
was switched for water. This time she emptied the bottle. Dehydration
was not to be risked.
Unscrewing the water bottle, he patted her cheek.
"Good girl," he said, and was gone.
The new driver did nothing. He was there – Sienna
could feel the slightly heavier weight of the drawbars on her
belt – but he did not move. The reins hung behind her, motionless.
She waited, occasionally shifting her stance and
balance, but never moving the sulky in any direction. Gradually,
her mind wandered. She was tired, and staying concentrated was
She was not even consciously paying attention
when the reins moved. Her training was good, because some sentinel
in a corner of her mind noticed the tiny wiggle, and suddenly
she went back to full alert. For a half-second she wondered
if she had really felt anything at all. Yes, she had. This was
a very light hand; very, very light. She leaned into her belt
and built quickly to a fast warm-up walk.
This was the test. She listened intensely to her
own body, to her fatigue, and to her cold muscles as they warmed
again. And she concentrated on the feel of the reins. A hand
so light could be Him. Might be Him. However tired she might
be, she would not let Him down. He would know when she was ready
to accelerate, and would then flick her reins … but ever so
gently. He would expect her to be ready.
It was difficult to keep her body relaxed and
moving smoothly, as the tension in her mind built higher and
higher. They had been at a walk for much longer than usual –
if it was Him – and she began to fear it was not. Trust Him,
she thought, He must have a reason.
She returned her attention to her legs, to her
muscles, how they were working. Her stride was short because
her ischios were stiff. He was right not to accelerate yet.
He would never require speed until she was ready … but He would
not be pleased if she did not do her very best to get ready.
She forced her stride further out, progressively stretching
everything more and more against light, lancing, acid-filled
Sweat gathered on her brow, not from physical
effort, but from the intensity of her concentration. Gradually,
she also increased the dip in her steps, working her knees.
The motion increased the flow of lymph in the tissues, and therefore
the evacuation of lactic acid. Stiffness and soreness receded.
There! The reins fluttered. Yes! Yes, yes, yes,
yes! It is Him. Without thinking, Sienna sang out, an ululation
of joy, as she changed gait to an easy, steady trot.
The sulky flitted over the road. She had no past,
nor future; only a glorious, perfect present. The changes of
gait – a hard run, a breathless sprint, slowing down to recovery
speeds, and all of them again – were His choice and hers indistinguishable.
When she was ready, He commanded her, and when He desired to
command her, she was ready.
Through it all, her need and desire grew. It,
too, was an integral part of their magic. She was whining continuously
with desire when He finally stopped. Sienna fell mindlessly
to the earth, ass high, sex gaping to receive Him.
Orgasms started rolling almost with His first
stroke, and built, and built, and built. One of his forearms,
under her belly, retained her hips to prevent her collapsing.
The other hand roamed her back, and her ribs, and her breasts.
At each of His plunges, a thick honking noise ripped through
her gag, rising in pitch every third or fourth time as another
He climaxed quickly, instantly releasing His hold
on her, letting her sag forward. To Sienna, their coupling seemed
to have lasted hours. Exhaustion crushed her. For just an instant,
she tried to resist, but sleep could not be denied.